


Haunted Love

by prmfus



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Crack, F/F, Ghosts, Guy Fieri is a Menace, Humor, Love, Masturbation, National Park, park ranger
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-13
Updated: 2018-08-29
Packaged: 2019-06-09 18:07:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 18,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15273261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prmfus/pseuds/prmfus
Summary: Fareeha and Angela are professional ghost hunters at Riverside National Park. Will they bust more than ghosts?





	1. Chronic Love and Other Things

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! Welcome to the beginning of Haunted Love. Does the title fit the story? You'll just have to find out. Please leave a kudo/comment if you enjoyed it!

Riverside National Park, the national park in the middle of nowhere surrounded by a river. On all sides. Perhaps moat would be a better word to river, since a river has a source and, well, this one didn’t. River controversy aside, the park attracted thousands of tourists a year, making it the most popular in the country. The only problem being it was hella haunted. And only two people knew about it.

Fareeha Amari, Park Ranger, and professional ghost hunter, was one of those people.

Along with her regular duties (lion spotting, breakdancing with squirrels, helping out guests, etc.), she was charged with keeping the mother fucking ghosts in line. She achieved this by shooting any and all ghosties she saw on sight with salt shaker bullets. They weren’t bullets, though. Just salt shakers she loaded into a shotgun.

Because of all the ghost related accidents that no one has yet to connect to ghosts, an on-site doctor was hired to heal everyone’s injuries. Dr. Angela Ziegler was the only other person aware of the ghosts in the park. She teamed up with Fareeha a while back to help bust ghosts with her ghost detecting ability.

“Angela!” Fareeha yelled one day after the park closed. She went straight, actually it was rather lesbianly, to Angela’s office and found the good doctor moaning with her head on her desk and her hand completely wrecking her pussy underneath it. “Jeepers! What are you doing?”

The woman in question, who was being questioned, looked up and regarded Fareeha with glazed eyes and reddened cheeks. “What?”

Fareeha looked at her with a stern look at what her hand was doing to her crotch.

“Oh, yes, the masturbating. I found myself looking at a picture of the two of us earlier, you know, the one where we had a picnic by the river, I mean moat, and you’re wearing your usual ranger outfit which consists of the standard issue uniform except you don’t have your shirt buttoned at all and you don’t wear anything underneath it, but it’s tucked in to conform to uniform protocol. It really tickled my clitoris if you know what I mean. Just in case you don’t, I meant that it got me really horny, so I had to tickle my pleasure button and tend to my fun oven.”

Fareeha looked down at her exposed abs and then back to Angela and her still wandering hand. “Angela, there’s no time for that. You have to go help me bust ghosts in the woods!”

“Fareeha, please, I just need five more minutes.” Angela gave Fareeha’s exposed abdomen more than just a cursory glance. “Two if you take off your shirt.”

And she almost did, anything to help out a friend, but then Angela got a different kind of tingles.

“Fuck, looks like I have to finish this later after all.” The good doctor found a wet wipe and cleaned up her mess quicker than she unbuttoned her pants. She even changed her panties and changed into her ghost busting outfit, which was an angel costume and heeled boots that didn’t work well in the woods, but she refused to look unfashionable in front of the dead. What if they told Jeepers? “My fingers are tingling. There must be a ghost nearby. Let’s go get ‘em.”

Hell yeah. Fareeha did a fist pump and then excitedly followed Angela to the ghost. They made their way into the woods, following wherever Angela’s ghost detection ability led them. She’d get a tingle in her fingers anytime a ghost spawned nearby and held out both of her middle fingers orthogonally to her body to lock on to their location. The current ghost they were tracking was in the woods directly behind the infirmary.

“Hmm, that’s strange. My middle fingers are pointing straight up at this tree, but I don’t see any ghost.”

Fareeha stepped to the side and craned her neck to look behind the tree. The ghostie was crouched on the ground looking at Angela with their hands covering up their ghost smile and snickers. Fareeha raised her ghost busting shotgun, inserted five salt shaker bullets (*coughcough* _just regular salt shakers_ *cough cough*), and then pumped it so that it was loaded. She quietly shuffled her feet along the forest floor, wrapping her finger around the trigger as she got closer to the ghost.

The ghost turned around, blew a raspberry, farted, and then disappeared right as Fareeha pulled the trigger. She fired into the empty air. “Damn, it must have heard me.”

Angela didn’t notice Fareeha draw her weapon. She had her middle fingers held up to the tree when the weapon went off. “Holy fuck, Fareeha. I almost creamed my panties. A little warning would have been nice.”

“Don’t you mean pissed your panties? Or at least wet them?”

“Yes, but in a dirty way because the sudden gunshot was both loud and arousing.”

Fareeha didn’t have time to judge her partner’s apparent gun kink because the ghost appeared again, this time in a branch above Angela.

“Well, what do we have here? A sexy park ranger and a chronic masturbator,” the ghost said, mirth clearly shining through their ghost eyes.

“I’ll have you know it’s actually called clinical masturbation because I’m a doctor and I diagnosed myself with it!”

“Oh, sorry. I didn’t mean to offend.”

Fareeha pumped her shotgun and shot the ghost through the chest while it was feeling guilty. It exploded. “Is it really called clinical masturbation?”

“No, chronic masturbation is correct, but I like to say clinical. Chronic makes it sounds like I get myself off more than half a dozen times a day. It’s more like four. Four times a day I mean. Four days a week just wouldn’t cut it.”

Fareeha felt her cheeks get hot. Four times a day still seemed like a lot. The thought of Angela going to town on herself that many times, in her office even, brought a warm fuzzy feeling in her stomach that pooled further south. “Why do you feel the need to do it so often?”

Angela shrugged. “I get really horny at the thought of certain things.”

“Maybe I can –” Help. She was going to say help, but Angela’s middle fingers sprang to life alerting them to a new ghost.

“Oh, shit. Maybe you can fuck me sideways later. There’s a new ghost.” Angela knew Fareeha was going to say help. She really wanted her to fuck her sideways and perhaps voicing it would enable the act to become reality.

Sideways fucking. She could do that. Fareeha trailed after Angela’s ass, her mind on, well, dat ass. And busting ghosts. And definitely not ghost ass.

Angela’s middle fingers led them deep into the forest where the bears usually held their illegal gambling rings which weren’t actually illegal since they were bears.

“I found it,” Angela said when she bumped into a ghost because she was too busy looking at her nails. They were a tad too long.

“No shit, it’s right in front of you.”

The new ghost stood floating in place, naked as the day they died because the only way to have clothes in the afterlife is to die in them, something that most people do. “Hello, ladies. It is I, Sappho.”

Fareeha didn’t buy it. “You can’t be Sappho. She’s having a really good time in lesbian heaven. Like, just the best time. Everyone knows that.”

Angela nodded her head. “Yeah, it’s common knowledge. You can’t be her because you’re a ghost. You haven’t passed on to lesbian heaven yet.”

The ghost snapped her fingers. “Damn I was really hoping that’d buy me some time. You see, I’m afraid of passing over. I had a friend that I was really into, a gal pal if you will. I’m not sure if she liked me back.”

“Was she a lesbian?”

“Yes.”

“Did she flirt with you?”

“Maybe.”

“Has she ever kissed you?”

“All the time.”

“Did she have tons of flannel?”

“That’s the only thing she ever wore.”

“Has she ever said that she liked you?”

“Yes, but I’m not sure if she meant it as like a friend or more than that. It didn’t help that she said it after a platonic French kiss.”

Angela was stumped. Her questioning proved inconclusive even to herself. “Sorry, I can’t say for certain that she returned your feelings.”

Fareeha let out a frustrated grunt and shot the ghost. “These damn lesbians never learn. Of course, her friend liked her. She was definitely more than a friend.”

Angela pressed her index fingers together, shyly looking everywhere but at Fareeha. “Sometimes these things aren’t so obvious. People get fixated on the thought that their friend can’t possibly like them back because they’re a badass park ranger that has better fish in the sea to pursue than the on-site doctor that masturbates four times a day to the thought of their friend eating them out like peanut butter from a jar.”

That was a really specific analogy. “Angela is there something you want to admit here? Something you’d like to get off your chest?”

“Uh, yeah. But first I need five minutes by myself around the corner.” Angela sprinted out of sight before Fareeha could respond.

That’s valid. She needed to take some time to herself before she admits whatever it is she’s about to admit.

Fareeha waited those five minutes but got worried when six minutes passed. She followed after Angela’s trail to make sure she was all right. “Angela, I know you said you needed to be alone, but it’s been too long. Are you okay?” She stumbled across a scene that suggested Angela was more than okay.

Angela had let her hair down and removed most of her clothes. She lied on her discarded clothes over the forest floor with one had on her breast and the other one beating dat pussy into a slick mess.

“Oh, Fareeha, I don’t know what happened. I definitely came here to masturbate, but I wasn’t going to take my clothes off and I’m way hornier than I was twenty minutes ago when I first thought about getting some me time in.”

Wait, how long had she been thinking about doing this? “O-Oh. Why do you think that is?”

“Mmmm. Ahhhh. I think maybe there’s another ghost but this one makes people hornier? My middle fingers are both pointing somewhere behind my head.”

Fareeha turned around to find a ghost sheepishly avoiding eye contact with her and rubbing the back of their head. “Yeah, sorry about that. I can’t really help my ability and your friend came careening around the corner with her hand in her pants faster than I could warn her. And I’m rooted to this exact spot, so I couldn’t leave either.”

The ghost exploded. Because Fareeha shot it. “That should fix it. Angela are you less horny now?”

Angela bust the best honey-nut of her life. “Oh, yeah. I’m good now,” she answered. “And I think I’ve had enough ghost busting for today. Help me up?”

Fareeha helped her partner off the ground and escorted her back to the clinic. Angela unlocked the door and motioned for Fareeha to follow her inside. “I think it’s time to confess some things.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Fareeha put her hands up to signal that she wanted Angela to hold her thought, even though she said wait, like, three times. “I want to confess my thing before you do yours just in case they’re different things maybe.”

Angela sat down on her couch that was wide enough to fit two people lying down on it. Fareeha had something to admit to her? She had to hear this.

“We’ve been partners for a while now and I didn’t want to ruin our relationship, but, I’m in love with you. I have been since the first day I saw you. You’ve been so much more than a dear friend to me, Angela and I hope you feel the same way about me.”

Angela wiped a tear from her eye and hugged her friend at the waist because she didn’t want to stand up after she had just sat down. “Same,” she replied.

The two partners hugged it out a while more, basking in the love that was totally mutual between them.

“So, about that sideways fucking… My couch is big enough for two people lying down.”

They fucked. Sideways. Upways. Downways. Leftways. Sideways again. Never had two people in love bust more nuts than Angela and Fareeha did in the Riverside National Park on-site clinic. They even got married, well, they planned on getting married hella soon.

Things could only get better from here.


	2. Spirit-Hacked Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angela sleeps (?).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m trying some stuff out in this chapter. Let me know what you think of it. 
> 
> Comment, like, subscribe, and don’t forget to hit the bell my friend!

  
Contrary to what the final sentence of the previous chapter stated, things didn't immediately get better. When Angela heard about the catastrophe, she immediately stopped eating her lemon and came running to the main building (a log cabin quadrice as large as the others around it). I her haste, she smashed the door open with a palm strike.

  
She walked up to the receptionist, also called Angela. Her crying cerulean orbs asked the question for her: "Where is she?" The receptionist pointed to the right.

  
On the way there, she met one of the park helpers, also called Angela. He informed her about Fareeha's status. Stable for now, but needs more specialised treatment.

  
When she entered the room, Fareeha was lying on a table, turned away from her, some kind of sheet half pulled over her. Even through that Angela could see that something was wrong with the leg. She wanted to ask a question, but that quickly left her mind once Fareeha turned around. There was a completely unknown face there, looking almost the same, except with purple eye-orbs and a large forehead. It drew the most mischievous, unnerving, aggravating smirk.

 

  
Moatside National Park, the national park in the middle of nowhere surrounded by a moat. On all sides. Perhaps it was more of a river, since a moat is standing still and, well, this one was in constant motion circling the area. It even had a scenic waterfall where everyone took the same picture, but theirs is different from all the others, because _they_ made it. Moat controversy aside, the park attracted thousands of bears every year, making it the most popular illegal gambling spot in the country. And only two people knew about it.

  
Angela "Fucking" Ziegler, Park Doctor, and professional ghost flipper offer, was one of those people. And right now she was on the way to make a deal with the bear mafia. She knocked on the door of the Bearan Host Club.

  
"Graaar!" Prince-kuma opened the door for her, displaying his signature flashy smile.

  
"I know I haven't been here in a while" Angela replied. "The park visitors have put much less money in my donation box, so I haven't collected enough to _properly_ gamble. Y'know, bear style."

  
"Grrmmraar. Grar rawr." Prince-kuma led her inside, where she was immediately greeted by the energetic twins, Twin-kuma and Twink-uma (who was actually a horse, but pssst don't tell him, he believes he's the twin of Twin-kuma). Right behind them was Baby-kuma, who wasn't actually a baby, he was just terribly short, so don't treat him like one, okay!!! Watching over him was Stoic-kuma, always ready to protect his little cousin. At the table, Glasses-kuma, the shadow king of the Bearan Host Club, and Average-kuma, who has the charm of being thoroughly average and is the only woman in the group (but that's a secret, so don't tell anyone), drank tea and relaxed.

  
"Grawr rawr grawlyrawr?" Twin-kuma and Twink-uma asked in unison.  
"To get to the other side, duh. Everyone knows this one." Angela replied sighingly. The two giggled, clearly enjoying the reception they garnered.

  
Baby-kuma approached her. "G-g-gra-rawr?"  
She reached into her pocket. "Yes, of course, here is your candy."  
His face lit up and he reached out with his paws, which were actually hidden in his overly long sleeves from his overly large host club uniform. Once he received the overly large sweet he skipped over into his overly large bean bag and hummed overly largely happily. Meanwhile, overly large Stoic-kuma always kept overly close watch while this happened.

  
Now Prince-kuma swirled around Angela again. "Grar rawr, ragrawrawr rar rrrar." He led her to the table in the back, where he pulled her chair out and served her a tea, then took a seat himself.

  
"So, I came here for a reason." Angela saïd. "You know about my ghost detection powers?" - the three bears at the table nodded - "Well, what's happening right now is, my middle fingers are reacting to a ghost's presence, but somehow they refuse to tell me in which direction the ghost is. So, since your bosses have a connection to the underworld, I came here to talk to them."

  
Average-kuma tilted her head. "Grawr raar spectral harmony rawr?"  
Angela wrinkled her nose. "Yes, I retune them every week, and I did it three extra times since this started."

  
Glasses-kuma's glasses suddenly started glowing. "Grar rawr, rarawr metabolism grawr, ragrawr emotional currency grawr, ragrawr spiritual janai grawr. Rararawr, grawr rawrawr really? Grarar ... _rawr_?" He lifted his paw to the side of his glasses, pushing them up like a super cool anime character, making them glow even more.

  
Nervousness crept through Angela's body. "wh-what are you implying? That I'm just some kind of horny fraud?"

  
In that moment, the shelf at the back wall started shifting to the side, revealing a dark, nebulous passage. Several purple strings flung out and grabbed hold of Angela's limbs. She stood up, and involuntarily started walking towards the tunnel. At the last moment, she turned around and Average-kuma stood right there, her fur now noticeably more purple. One paw was raised to Angela's nose.

  
"Boop."

  
And backwards she fell.

 

  
Angela "Gives a Fuck (to Herself)" Ziegler stood on a beach in LA, wearing a fine red dress. She looked at herself in a conveniently placed mirror and thought: "Daaayum, you lookin fine guuurrl!" Then she wanted to die of embarrassment for using such old-school slang. But before she could do any such thing, she noticed that next to her was Fareeha "Softie (but don't call her that)" Amari, dressed in a flannel suit with a flannel bow tie. (She didn't like ties, because a potential enemy could just grab it and choke her, but a bowtie would just open up and fall off.)

  
"It was so nice of Guy Fieri to invite us to this wedding." Fareeha said. "But I have to say, these appetisers are quite flavourful."

  
"Uh," Angela replied, "don't you mean flavorful?"

  
"No," Fareeha pontificated, "I'm Canadian, I say flavourful."

  
"Ah," Angela verbalised, "I understand. Anyway, whomsts wedding is this anyway?"

  
"Err," Fareeha supposed, "I'm not sure. I only know it's a lesbian wedding. Didn't they tell _you_?"

  
"Oh," Angela orated, " They didn’t. To be honest, I'm only here because Guy Fieri is the priest."

  
"Eh?," Fareeha alleged, "I didn't know you were a fan of his."

  
"Yes," Angela commanded, "His teachings showed me the way to flavortown (in my pants) (if you get my drift) (if you don't, are you even old enough to read this fic?) (talk to your parents or someone else you trust about this)."

  
"Cool." Fareeha guessed, "I’d love to visit that city at some point. Carnally."

  
"Sure," Angela ejected, "But only if you manage to top me."

  
"Babe," Fareeha exclaimed, "You may be a power bottom, but I have bottomless power."

  
Suddenly everyone fell silent. On the stage stood Guy Fieri in full catholic priest garb (he was a bishop at this point). Opposite him stood three women; one in a purple wedding dress; the second - with mauve skin - wearing a mauve suit; the third was a humanoid dragon.

  
And thus spoke Guy Fierithustra: "Today, we have gathered here to celebrate this marriage, this triple threeway triplysisp marriage between Amélie, Olivia and Satya. Three wonderful people who have found each other in a loving embrace of each other's warmth. (Well, Satya provides enough fire to balance out Amélie's coldness.) We have gathered here to celebrate their eternal bond (that no one is insecure about, this isn't some kinda wish fulfillment dream, what are you talking about). We celebrate their coming together like ingredients in a cake. (By the way, if you want to bake a cake, here's how: Put flower, d’egg, solid milk and a pinch of nipple in a bowl. Mix it thoroughly with your tongue. Add lovingly roasted nails. (Don’t try unroasted, they’re too hard.) Let it sit on your chair for 30 minutes. Mix it thoroughly again, this time with your butt tongue. Spread it all over your body and put yourself in the pre-heated oven. After 20 minutes it should be done. Buy my book.) Now, to bring them guidance, let us pray to Sappho."

  
The whole congregation chanted: "Dear Sappho that thou art in lesbianly heaven, bless us with thy lesbianly touch, guyide us with thy lesbianly fingers, call us with thy lesbianly voice. For thou art the light, the joy and the pillow in our lives. In the name of the mother, the daughter and the horny spirit, Amen."

  
With the last word, the sunset detached itself from the horizon and enveloped them with purple-orange light. Heavenly bells were blinging and ringing atop the clouds, and a pink cadillac descended, pulled by rainbow-maned unicorns.

  
"Angela, it's time for you to go." Fareeha said.

  
Angela turned around. "Uh, what do you mean, go?" Or rather, she tried to turn around, when shoe noticed that her feet didn't touch the ground anymore. She stretched her hands out to Fareeha to grab her, but all she received was a gentle wave and a soft, happy smile. She floated up towards the cadillac, did three loops around it and landed on the back seat. Or rather, the backseat opened its gaping maw and vored Angela whole.

 

  
Carry on my wayward Gay  
There will be peace when you are Fae  
Space wizards will train you Sore  
Don't you wank no More *guitar riff*

  
Angela "Fuckaronis and Cheese" Ziegler, medium ghost detector (medium was her power level), was on the moon. A large compound stood in front of her, surrounded by a wall. In front of her was a large, sturdy wooden gate, bounded by two guard towers. To the left of it, a sign hung on the wall: "St. Aybabtu College for Lesbian Moon Wizards".

  
She knocked on the gate. Nothing happened. Except that something happened. A trapdoor below her opened. As she fell, she heard a few snickering kobolds. (She had no idea how kobolds snicker, but she just _knew_ these were kobolds.) She landed in front of the large gate again. A small door set into it opened up.

  
"What do you want?" Noir Detective Reyes gruffed.

  
"I'm not entirely sure, actually." Angela replied.

  
"And what are you unentirely sure about?" ND Reyes grawuffed.

  
"That I'm having this weird experience that is maybe a dream and maybe caused by this weird ghost that I can't identify." Angela answered.

  
"Well then, come the heckinfuck in." Reyes MD smoothed.

  
While she walked inside, everything transformed. The door became an apple tree, then a mirror; the wall turned into a rainbow, and everything inside changed so often that she lost track of what they originally were.

  
"Here, take a seat on this banana." Reyes PhD said. She sat down on the beetle. Reyes GmbH  & Co. KG left the room. A few minutes later returned with a few lesbian moon wizard professors. Their leader wore a purple robe, a pointy purple hat and carried a purple wand. Her whole face was painted purple, and she had purple contact lenses. All in all, she was a heap of shining bright purple.

  
"YOU!" Angela pointed her middle fingers at the purple wizard. "You are the ghost that pulled me into here!"

  
"Ah, finally you noticed. Also, I'm not a ghost, I'm a dream hacker. Like a dreamcatcher, but with technology." the robe-wearer said.

  
"And what is so important that you have to keep me away from my quaddaily pleasure islands (the masturbation)?" Angela asked.

  
"Actually, in the real world only a few seconds have passed. Also, I think we should talk in private." She snapped her purple fingers and everything faded to white.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who do you think is the real haunted love? Find out next time! uwu


	3. From Above

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angela wakens (?)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Betcha thought it wouldn't make sense, didn't you?

“Wake up! Wake up! Angela, wake the fuck up already!”

Angela blinked, and then again, and then some more as her brow furrowed (as she blinked, blinkily). There was some memory of a purple woman, and a mauve one, and then one who was surprisingly nondescript. Also Fareeha on a jetpack. And ghosts.

“I’m awake,” Angela muttered, sleepily, in contrast to her assurances that she was in fact awake. Glancing around, she saw that she was, confusingly, in the same clearing where she’d succumbed to a ghost - where she’d run away from Fareeha briefly, to take a break before her confessions of love and other things, just after they’d killed a lesbian ghost. The same clearing from the first chapter, is what I’m saying - let’s just skip the narrative hassle and say that.

Overtop of her, Fareeha breathed a heavy sigh of relief. Given that her salt-shaker shotgun was still smoking heavily from the double-barrel-load of salt-shakers she’d shotgunned out of the salt-shaker shotgun, her heavy sigh of relief involved her breathing in quite a lot of salt-shaker shotgun shotgunned salt-shaker smoke.

It wasn’t very good, and made her cough a lot.

“Oh, careful Fareeha,” Angela said from the ground as she glanced around in confusion. She was lying down, naked, and very sticky, all covered in a some kind of thick viscous fluid. “Did you kill a ghost right on top of me? Is that why I’m all sticky?”

“No,” Fareeha coughed, “that’s just your hot lady juices, I killed the ghost over there.” She pointed off to the side where several bushes were completely covered in thick green slime that looked exactly like the slime in Ghostbusters (the remake, not the original, they totally look different. Very distinct types of slime).

Angela nodded. “That makes sense. What were you so worried about then?”

Fareeha dropped to her knees, bringing her worried face closer to Angela’s noticeable less-worried face. “You were asleep for like, a long time. Like an hour. Also you kept on masturbaking right through your sleep!”

Angela made a face of confusion, and Fareeha, seeing it and deciphering its meaning, responded to the unspoken but obvious question. “Oh, masturbaking is like masturbating, except when you’re done you also get baked goods.”

“Hmm, that’s odd,” Angela murmured, picking up a cookie from beside her and taking a big bite. “Very strange. That doesn’t normally happen on Tuesdays - my hour-long masturbaking nap is usually  _ strictly _ for Sundays, Mondays, Thursdays, Wednesdays, and Saturdays. And Fridays. But  _ never _ Tuesdays!”

Fareeha stood up with an expression on her face. It usually had an expression on it, but this one was a particularly noteworthy expression - one of stoic, strong strength and stoicism, as strongly stoic as it was stoically strong. “This isn’t any ordinary Tuesday, Agnela. There was some kind of fucked up dream ghost giving you some kind of fucked up dreams. Ghostily.”

“Oh.” Angela pouted. “Damn. Wait, are we married yet?”

“What?” Fareeha looked down to her in confusion. “Married? What are you talking about? Are you feeling alright?”

Angela shook her head as she pulled her knees up to her chest. “No, I think I still have a few cookies that I haven’t quite finished masturbaking yet. Maybe a pound cake or two,  _ if you know what I mean!” _ She winked heavily up to Fareeha.

Fareeha didn’t know what she meant. She just reloaded her salt-shaker shotgun with a few more shotgun salt-shakers (which were, of course, as established previously, just like normal salt-shakers, except they happened to be temporarily interred in a shotgun, immediately preceding their forceful and abrupt ejection from said shotgun and penetration into a ghostie’s squishy bits [which are, of course, as everyone knows, all of a ghostie’s bits. They’re really quite squishy]).

“No time,” Fareeha shook her head, slinging the shotgun over her shoulder and crouching down. She took Angela’s slick and crumb-covered hands in hers, meeting Angela’s eyes intently. “Agenla, how do your fingers feel?”

Angela grinned so wide she thought her cheeks were going to fall off, as her lady-oven immediately was pre-heated to 375 degrees Fahrenheit by the look in Fareeha’s eyes and her closeness, and was thus ready for another few batches of cookies. And a lot of masturbation. “Oh, they feel  _ fantastic _ now that you’re touching them,” Angela gushed.

“No, I meant, the tinglies,” Fareeha explained.

“Oh I’ve got all  _ kinds _ of tinglies!” Angela exclaimed, nakedly, on account of the fact that she still hadn’t put any clothes on. She shifted a little bit to lean in closer to Fareeha, and crushed two cookies and a muffin in the process. A literal muffin, not a metaphorical one.

“No, I meant, the  _ ghost _ tinglies,” Fareeha groaned. “C’mon Angliea, we’re ghost-hunting gal-pals, remember?”

“Oh.” Angela frowned. “Right. Can we be the kind with platonic French Kisses?”

Fareeha sighed, letting go with one hand to press a fist into her forehead. “How many times do I need to tell you I’m not French? I just learned it in school. The best I can give you is platonic Half-Canadian Half-Egyptian kisses.”

“Do those involve tongue?” Angela’s voice, and her other parts too, were hopeful.

“Yes, but not in your mouth - now c’mon, Agnelae, what’s the deal with your fingers?”

Angela frowned slightly and looked down at them, slightly pruney and covered in crumbs. She leaned in, gave them a sniff, and then licked them. “Mmm they taste delicious, all soaked in lady juices and also cookie dough,” she explained, “but they’re not tingling anymore.”

“Just what I thought.” Fareeha stood up again, resuming her stoically strong stance of strong stoicism. “We’re all out of ghosts to bust down here.”

“I’ve got something else you could bust!” Angela called out from the ground, still licking her hands clean of cookie crumbs and stuff. “It’s a nut.”

“No time for your walnut fetish Algeana, we need to…” Fareeha clenched a fist dramatically, increasing her levels of stoic strength by at least 50% and heating Angela’s fun-oven up to at least 425 degrees Fahrenheit, which is too hot for most cookies. “ _ Start climbing!” _

Angela gasped. “Start climbing? But why?”

“Ghost float, Agnelange, everybody knows that.” Fareeha reloaded her shotgun a second time as she spoke, walking around the little clearing and picking up all of Angela’s hastily-discarded bits of clothing to toss over one by one. “We must have killed all the new-ish ghosts that are down this low, so all that’s left is the ghosts that are up higher. So we need to climb.”

“Oh.” Angela frowned slightly as she caught her own panties and just threw them into the bushes instead of putting them on. They only ever got in the way anyway, and they always had problems with being constantly soaked. She wasn’t even sure why she bothered buying them anymore. “Right. That makes sense.”

She glanced up hopefully, just in time to see Fareeha toss her another pair of panties, which she also threw off into the woods. “First can I have a few of those strictly platonic, just friendly, definitely not lesbionic, Half-Canadian-Half-Egyption kisses where your tongue ends up all inside exciting places other than my mouth? I’ll trade you some cookies!”

Fareeha grunted in frustration, tossing over three or four more pairs of panties. “No time!”

“...can I at least ask where your tongue ends up?” Angela expertly dodged the thrown panties, a skill honed over many years of medical conferences which were much more fun than most people thought upon first hearing of them. “It would really help with the mental image I’m using for this cake I’m baking in my fun oven right now.”

“No, no time!” Fareeha abandoned any hope of getting all of Angela’s clothes, and instead just grabbed her lab coat off of a nearby branch and draped it around her shoulders. “We need to climb this mountain! Right! Now!”

“Alright alright alright fine I’ll make petit-fours instead of a cake,” Angela grumbled, buttoning the lab coat and stuffing cookies into the pockets, “I can do that on a wank. Walk. I said walk.”   
  


“No you didn’t, Anngelnae,” Fareeha responded with a shake of her head (and also a shake of her salt, in her salt-shaker shotgun). “But we don’t have time to deal with your chronic masturbation right now.”

“Clinical!” Angela protested. “And you literally  _ always _ have time to deal with it, that’s what makes it chronic. Clinical, I said clinical.”

“Sure Jangela,” Fareeha rolled her eyes and held out a hand, “now c’mon, we’ve got to get climbing. You and me, friend.”

Angela took the offered hand with a frown. Actually, she took it with her hand,  _ while _ frowning, but phrasing like that is generally considered to be grammatically permitted due to the ambiguity of English sentence structure.

Her other hand, she just buried inside the hole she’d cut through one pocket of her lab coat, but there wasn’t anything grammatically interesting about that, she was just masturbating more. Like, a lot more, though. It’s important that you understand that.

And so, (two words which should, incidentally, never begin a sentence), the two friends set out on their climb. It was difficult terrain, making their way up the mountainside. There were many long nights, cold, warmed only by the frantic friction of Angela’s hands rubbing all up between her legs, and also Fareeha’s standard-issue Park Ranger just-add-water campfire. Unfortunately, whenever you added water to it to make the campfire, it also put the campfire out.

“Useless piece of shit,” Fareeha muttered, kicking the standard-issue Park Ranger just-add-water campfire off of the cliff.

“I am not,” Angela complained, cramming all the fingers she could into herself and trying to twist a leg around to get a few toes in as well.

“No, not you, Aaeglneg,” Fareeha sighed, “you’re very useful, you make cookies and also you’re the only one who can find ghosts for me to bust.”

Angela, for the first time in a long time, suddenly didn’t feel like masturbating anymore. She  crossed her arms around her knees, pulling them in tight to her chest and pouting. “Is… is that really all you like me for?”

Fareeha continued to stare out dramatically over the cliff, and wished there could be a wind whipping around her or maybe some rain coming down. It would really help heighten the dramatic factor. Sadly, though, there wasn’t.

Then, she realized that Angela had said something. She turned around with a confused frown of frowned confusion. “Wait, what?”

“I said, is that really all you like me for?” Angela looked up, pouting like a wet cat (which, ironically, was a synonym for what she’d been shoving her various digits into a moment ago). “My cookies and my ghost-finding abilities? Nothing else?”

Fareeha’s frown deepened, but not in confusion - it obviously shifted to a frown of upset and concern, they’re very distinct, frowns of those two types. She stepped closer to Angela with a frown. “What? No, of course not- I mean, wait, yes of course? Or- shit, fuck,” she looked down at her hands, trying to count double-negatives on her fingers.

“I… don’t like you for… nothing else, so no, or, is it yes for, because I  _ do _ like- or, wait, no I don’t dislike you because of nothing else besides-” she shook her head with a frustrated groan of groaned frustration. “Ugh, lesbians are terrible at math. Whatever! What I’m  _ trying _ to say is that of course I like you for things other than your ghost-finding abilities and your cookies, Angelgea.”

“Oh, okay,” Angela nodded. “Well, at least you are currently succeeding in saying that. Are you sure, though? I mean, you don’t even get my name right sometimes.”

“Oh, sorry about that,” Fareeha muttered quickly, “my  ~~ fingers ~~ tongue just does that sometimes and gets the letters in the wrong order.”

“That’s exactly what I’m talking about!” Angela wailed. “I don’t even  _ know _ what kinds of things your tongue does! I mean, it’s like we’re not even strictly platonic ghost-busting gal-pals at all!”

“Well,” Fareeha rubbed at the back of her neck hesitantly, “well, maybe that’s…. Maybe that’s because it’s kind of true.”

Angela flipped over onto her back like a baby turtle and started wailing. She didn’t start whaling, though, because as both a pacifist and a general wildlife conservationist, she found the practice to be objectionable.

“No, no, I didn’t mean-” Fareeha groaned again. “Dammit, I’m so bad with double-negatives!”

“There weren’t even any double-negatives in there,” Angela whimpered.

“Okay, well, whatever was in there, I’m bad with,” Fareeha corrected herself. “Anyway, whatever, that’s not important. The important part is that what I  _ meant _ to say was that maybe… maybe it’s because we’re not exactly  _ strictly platonic _ ghost-hunting gal-pals? Maybe… y’know, maybe…”

Angela felt hope in her heart. It was like a thump, like some kind of convulsion that send blood rushing through all of her veins. No, not a heartbeat, that’s obviously a very different sensation - and Angela’s a doctor, so she can tell the difference between hope and a heartbeat, and what she felt then was definitely hope. Anyway.

She felt hope in her heart as she jumped up from her back exactly like a turtle can’t do, and the hope went from her heart to her eyes as she looked at Fareeha. Conveniently, hope is blue, so her eyes still looked the same, except maybe a little bit bluer.

“You- you mean-” she wiped her dribbly nose off on the sleeve of one of her lab coats which was thoroughly soaked in lady-juices from her special garden places, which she’d been cramming half of her fucking arm into earlier. “You mean that… maybe the reason we don’t know the little things about each other…”

“...maybe the reason I’m so bad at math and words and stuff,” Fareeha picked up off of her trailed sentence, adding in her own two cents. Not really any of her own scents, though - Fareeha was a very clean woman who preferred unfragranced personal care products.

“...maybe the reason my heart’s always beating around you,” Angela added.

“I think it does that all the time anyway babe,” Fareeha chuckled.

“No but it’s different! Trust me, I’m a doctor,” Angela nodded. “Anyway, where were we?”

“I think we were about to confess something big.”

Angela nodded, taking a deep breath. “Alright. Okay, let’s- on the count of three?”

“Sure,” Fareeha nodded with a grin. “Sounds like a plan.”

“Three,” Angela started.

“Two,” Fareeha continued.

“One,” they said at once, and then both called out their confessions.

“I love you,” Fareeha smiled.

“I ate your Honey Nut Cheerio-” Angela started, then heard what Fareeha was saying and her eyes widened. “I-I mean I love you too! That’s what I meant to say, that thing about the Honey Nut Cheerios was just a throwback and a reference, I promise!”

Fareeha laughed, wrapping Angela up in her arms and pulling her in for a deep kiss. “Babe, you can steal all the Honey Nut Cheerios you want from me. Whatever cereal’s mine, is yours.”

“That’s so sweet,” Angela sniffled, wiping a tear from her cheek. Although statistically, it may not have been a tear, and was quite likely just a drop that dripped from her hand at some point.

“Now, let’s bust something other than ghosts,” Fareeha grinned, “and in the morning, we get climbing. Things are about to get real serious here, because you know what happens after we’re done getting all the ghosts off this mountain?”

Angela’s eyes widened hopefully. “Anal?”

Fareeha didn’t hear her, though. She’d turned her head away and was looking up to the moon, shining high above them, and she didn’t have mobile ears like a donkey or horse, and thus couldn’t twist an ear around to face Angela and hear what she was saying. “The moon, babe.  _ That’s _ what’s next - the  _ moon. _ Ghosts float, Angiebabe, and up there’s where all the oldest and strongest ghosts are gonna be. And we’re gonna bust ‘em.” She tightened up her arm arounds Angela’s waist.  _ “Together.” _

Angela nodded with a smile. “Yes,  _ ser gut. _ And then anal?”

“Yeah babe,” Fareeha nodded, facing Angela again so she could hear her. “In fact, you don’t even need to wait that long. I’ll give you all the anal you want, any the time.”

“Oh, um,” Angela blushed slightly, “actually I was thinking I’d be the one giving it?”

Fareeha’s eyes widened. “Well, um, uh, y’know, maybe let’s talk about it? But like, I totally love you and stuff.”

“Oh yeah, me too,” Angela assured her quickly. “Regardless of all that stuff. Anyway, I feel pretty tired.”

“Yeah, it’s like four in the morning, and also you’ve started masturbating again,” Fareeha pointed out, moving slightly to the side so that Angela could see her hand going all kinds of wild all up inside the folds of her lab coat. “So I’m not surprised that you’re tired.”

“Oh, would you look at that,” Angela exclaimed in surprise. “Well, at least we’ll have some tasty baked goods in the morning!”

Fareeha laughed right from her belly, directly from her belly, the laugh bypassing her throat and mouth entirely, and she laid down beside Angela and looked up at the stars. “Ah, I love you, babe - I can’t wait to fight all these ghosts by your side. And also do all kinds of explicit sex.”

_ Explicit _ sex? That was her favourite kind! “Slit folds pussy clit clit!” Angela blurted in excitement, quite explicitly.

“Yeah, just like that,” Fareeha confirmed, relaxing on her back and pointing up at the sky. “Man, you know, of all those stars up there, I’m really glad that you and me are both orbiting the same one…”

Angela sighed, rolling over to wrap her arms around Fareeha’s strong shoulders. She snuggled all up against her, but just before she drifted off to sleep, she spared one last glance for the star-studded sky. “Yeah, me too. Goodnight, Fareeha, my ghost-busting lesbi-friend.”

“G’night Angela, my ghost-finding lesbi-friend who literally can’t stop masturbating for ten seconds, seriously you’re doing it again,” Fareeha murmured.

“Don’t worry about it,” Angela smiled, letting her eyes slide shut. “Just think about it like you’re on a train, and that’s just the gentle clickety-clack of the wheels on the rails…”

“I think if it’s going clickety-clack you should see a doctor,” Fareeha pointed out wryly. “Or at least get some lube or something, but I guess you are a doctor and there’s no lube up here, so go off I guess.”

Angela just hummed, and then started to snore softly on Fareeha’s shoulder. Fareeha smiled, and patted Angela on the head, and had one last look of the uncountable millions of stars in the dark night sky, before sleep took her as well.

Little did they both know that those lights in the sky were not, in fact, stars.

They were, in fact, quite to the contrary, ghosts. The oldest and the strongest of ghosts, who had been floating upward for years upon years upon years, and maybe, far far out, even some ghosts which had floated from other planets entirely. Alien ghosts.

The two had quite a lot of work cut out for them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have _never _, in my _entire life_ , misspelled Agnela Zeglier's name by accident by hitting the wrong keys. It just doesn't happen.__


	4. Lesbians in Space

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because Earth is in space, so too are the lesbians.

 

It was only a few hours later when Fareeha woke up from a dream where she was drowning (granted it was in her love for Angela, but still, being unable to breathe was a bit startling). She sat up and found her shoulder was abnormally cold when the wind blew.

Thinking it was a ghost, Fareeha turned to shake Angela awake. “Angela! Wake up! What do your middle fingers say?”

“Fuck you! Now put me down!” Angela griped from where Fareeha held her off the ground shaking her like a rug… and it was definitely not sexy, if her still rattling brain was any indicator.

After her feet were planted firmly on the ground, Angela lifted her face to give Fareeha a glare. “Now, why’d you want to know what my middle fingers say?”

“I think there’s a ghost on my shoulder.” Fareeha explained, pointing to where the shoulder of her plaid shirt was a shade darker than the rest of it. “Do you feel anything?”

Blue eyes observed Fareeha’s shoulder while Angela thought of where it could have come from. It didn’t take her long to realize that she’d fallen asleep on Fareeha’s shoulder, and it didn’t take a genius to understand she must have been gettin’ that good sleep, because it was her drool that was causing Fareeha’s discomfort.

Like hell Angela was going to tell her that though.

Raising her hands, Angela felt only slightly guilty about pointing both of her middle fingers straight at Fareeha’s shoulder, closing her eyes and humming.

“I… I can see it! Fareeha! ThEre’s a SpeCtER oN your sHouLdeR!”

Fareeha tilted her head, ghostly shoulder angel forgotten. “Angela are you all right?”

“No, I have a left side too. Why?”

Fareeha gave a relieved sigh. “Oh, that’s swell. Are you alright though?”

“Wha… why do you ask?”

“You sounded funny when you said…” Her eyes widened. “There’s a ghost on my shoulder!”

All concern for Angela flew out the window of Fareeha’s mindscape as she lifted the salt shaker shotgun and somehow maneuvered it until it was pointed at her shoulder.

Angela’s eyes widened. “Wait! Stop! It doesn’t have to end this way!”

“This is the best I can think of, my love. So, unless you have any better ideas, or you were lying for some sadistic reason… this looks like it’s the end.”

Angela refused to believe that. “There has to be another way. What if…” Her eyes lit up with an idea and Fareeha thought Angela should definitely go to the eye doctor about how often her eyes glowed. “What if you threw salt on it?”

“What?” Fareeha had never heard of such a crazy idea. Throwing salt on one’s shoulder?

“Yes! I’ve read about it. People used to do it all the time when they knocked over a salt shaker to ward off bad luck.”

Fareeha shook her head, frustrated tears welling in her eyes. “Angela, those are just stories. No one has salt shakers just lying around.”

“That’s not true!” Angela reached into her pocket for the stray salt shaker she kept in case Fareeha ran out of ammunition. “I do!” she announced victoriously.

“Angela!” Fareeha smiled brightly, slowly realizing she wouldn’t have to shoot her shoulder (and by default her arm) off and have to get a whole raptora suit to have fully functioning limbs again. “You’re a life saver!”

Angela blushed, throwing salt where her drool was rapidly drying. “I try.”

The salt absorbed the last bit of drool and the wet patch on Fareeha’s shoulder was gone. Angela found herself wrapped in Fareeha’s arms soon after.

“You saved me.” Fareeha whispered into Angela’s hair.

“What else are lesbi-friends for?”

_____

Shoulder specter drama aside, the two ghost and nut busting women made their way up the mountain to bust some ghosts, and maybe a few nuts, time permitting.

When they reached the top, they discovered the stars had all faded from the sky.

Angela looked down to see if maybe they’d climbed above them somehow. They had been climbing for about an hour now.

Nothing but the dark forest was visible, however, so Angela turned back to see if she had somehow missed seeing any of the billions of stars.

She was about to point out the missing stars to Fareeha when she noticed one star. It was probably because it was falling towards them in a blaze of glory, likely it had been, “Shot down.” Angela lamented aloud.

Fareeha turned back to Angela, missing the star heading for their location. “Did you say something?”

Before Angela could answer, a high-pitched screech caressed their ears. Like concrete. Because it was so grating.

“What on Earth was that?” Fareeha complained.

Angela was about to answer it was a star, but her middle fingers tingled and pointed in the direction of the falling star… which was apparently a ghost.

Noticing her partner’s fingers, Fareeha turned around to face the ghost heading their way. “Nice work, Angela!”

She lifted her salt shaker shotgun and aimed at the spirit.

The moment the barrel of the gun was aimed at it, the ghost stopped. The otherworldly flame that covered it was doused and the ghost revealed itself to be Mothman.

“Oh, fuck!” Fareeha stepped in front of Angela protectively. “It’s Mothman the moth who is also a man!”

Angela gasped. “And we busted Godzilla first so now we don’t have his natural predator.”

“Exactly!” Fareeha kept her focus on Mothman as he fluttered in the sky ominously.

She lifted her shotgun and fired off a warning shot. It didn’t come close to hitting Mothman and he giggled at her shortcomings and her failure.

Remembering Angela’s genius earlier, Fareeha took a salt shaker out of her gun and threw it with a cry of “Yeet!” to grant the power of distance, since her aim was pretty okay without needing to call for the aid of Kobe’s spirit.

The salt hit its mark and Fareeha pumped a fist into the air, while Angela pumped her fingers elsewhere nervously.

The moth man, Mothman, brushed the salt from his boddess grumpily, but was otherwise unfazed.

_Salt is useless!_ Fareeha thought.

“What are you doing?” Angela asked from behind her.

“Thinking.”

“I see that, but why are you thinking in italics? It’s so cheesy.”

“What?! First of all, let me live my life! And second of all, how did you even know I was doing that?”

Angela folded her tingling hands behind her back, so they wouldn’t get wrinkly and need to be ironed. “Oh, no reason.”

“At any rate, how are we supposed to defeat him?” Fareeha wondered.

“Well… since he is a moth and a man, perhaps we should think about what weaknesses the two species have and use that?”

“We could buy a real gun and-”

Angela cut Fareeha’s suggestion short. “Let me just stop you right there. This might be rated “M” for Mature, but this isn’t that kind of fic.”

“Okay… so… what. Play on the moth’s weakness? Do moths even have weaknesses?”

Fareeha thought long and hard. Mothman waited patiently, having nothing better to do and no thoughts of his own.

Fareeha’s mind finally supplied an idea. “I’ve got it!”

She set about collecting firewood and kindling.

“Fareeha… I love camping as much as the next lesbian, but this really doesn’t seem like the time.”

“Just trust me.” Fareeha replied mysteriously and began to make a fire the hard way. With a match and some gasoline.

Before long, the fire became a roaring blaze.

Angela was on the ground, enjoying the romantic firelight with another round of masturbating. Fully clothed though. She didn’t want Mothman to see her goods. She had more class than that.

Like a moth man to a flame, Mothman was powerless to resist the pull the flames had over him. He fluttered around the massive fire playfully until the tip of one of his wings caught on fire.

He screamed in ecstasy as he became one with his one true love. Any light source (including fire).

Like that, Mothman joined Godzilla in whatever plane of existence or nonexistence Fareeha and Angela sent all ghosts to when they busted them.

“Busted, shithead.” Fareeha announced victoriously, wiping the sweat from her brow.

“It’s pronounced Shi-theed.” Angela corrected.

Fareeha hummed noncommittally and sat beside Angela who had just finished getting off.

“You know… I had a dream.” Angela admitted as they watched the massive blaze die down.

“Oh?” was Fareeha’s semi-bored reply. Thinking that was the end of what Angela wanted to say. Since, most people had dreams.

“You were there.”

“Oh?” Fareeha’s interest was suddenly piqued, which is just a fancy word to say that Fareeha was now suddenly interested in something she didn’t think was going to be interesting, interestingly enough.

Angela nodded. “We were married. It was lit.”

Fareeha looked down, lost in thought. When she found her mind map to find the way out of her mindscape, she looked into the flames ahead of them. “Ya know what else is lit?”

“What?”

“This fire.”

Angela looked into the dancing blaze. “Indeed, it is.”

…

“We should get married.” Fareeha proposed suddenly. “For realsies.”

Angela’s eyes widened. “What? But… there’s no one here to witness it!”

Fareeha grabbed Angela’s hands gently. “The only ones who need to witness it are all present.”

Angela looked up into Fareeha’s eyes searchingly. “Who?”

“You, me, this romantic fire I built, and Sappho.”

Angela nodded her head as she considered Fareeha’s point. “Those are all very valid witnesses. And I _do_ want to be married to you, as evidenced by my dream.”

Fareeha felt her heart race with excitement.

“Very well, Fareeha. I do.”

Fareeha’s heart crossed the finish line in first place and she was awarded two rings that fit her and Angela’s ring fingers perfectly.

She slipped one onto Angela’s finger, sliding on easily from her lady juices, and gave the other one to Angela to put onto her finger in return so they’d both have one. Because sharing is caring.

“So, we’re married now?” Angela asked hopefully.

“Yes. Maybe not in the eyes of any government. But fuck those guys. I’m married to you and you’re married to me. We can do all the official shit to be recognized when we feel like it.”

Angela played with Fareeha’s hair, twirling a lock around her finger seductively. “Now that we’re married we can go on our honeymoon.”

“Yeah.” Fareeha replied, voice hoarse with anticipation.

“I was thinking something up in the mountains, with a giant fire. Just us two.” Angela suggested.

“That sounds perfect.” Fareeha complimented before giving her wife a platonic French kiss before a romantic peck on the cheek, making Angela’s face redden.

“So, when should we go?”

“Right now.”

_____

It took them five days to find the perfect mountain for their honeymoon. They secured the perimeter, started a large fire, and fucked for an entire day. Angela got to top most of the time, her condition of clinical masturbator (which everyone knew was a chronic condition) gave her enough energy to keep going for the both of them.

At the end of their honeymoon, Angela laid down beside Fareeha, enjoying the way their bodies slid along each other so easily thanks to all the pleasure juices they’d made between them.

“This has been the best honeymoon ever.” Angela announced, kissing Fareeha’s shoulder.

“For me too. Of course, I’ve never had another one to compare it to. But this is probably the best.”

“Same.”

_____

They made their way back from their impromptu vacation that was totally planned and scheduled out so that the ghosts wouldn’t get too rowdy while they were away and went online to the world wide interweb to make their marriage official.

It took a bunch of money, that neither of them minded spending in the slightest.

“Now, we should be married for the rest of our lives.” Angela hoped, checking her suddenly less rich bank account.

“Yeah. We spent good money on this, so we better stay married.” Fareeha spoke, looking up at the heavens.

The two of them sipped some hot cocoa and relaxed until nightfall when they could go bust some more ghosts.


	5. Mooning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's totally not what you're thinking based on this chapter's title... or maybe it is, who knows?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long time no crack.

Angela was having the time of her life. Apparently, sex (but not straight sex; not crooked sex… we are talking about _✧*°☆ lesbian ☆°*✧_ sex!) was having a positive effect on her. Her ~~chronic~~ clinical masturbation was more manageable if she had sex with her lesbi-friend and now wife Fareeha regularly; now instead of masturbating 4 times a day, she only had to do it 3 and a half times. Of course, this was a medical breakthrough, and Angela wanted to share it with the world, but that would mean leaving her wife’s side and she didn’t have to think it twice. “Fuck Fareeha or fuck the world… why not both?” she said to herself…

…while riding her wife, because as usual she was topping her. She was about to cum for the 144th time in a row when Fareeha abruptly, with no notice, no warning, no “KIDS, GET OFF MY LAWN” as grandpa Rein used to say before taking out his bigass hammer, nothing at all, almost jumped out of bed, sending Angela flying to the other side of the room with the power of her thighs alone. “We forgot about them ghosts!”

Angela, who had landed roundly on her ass, the fall softened by all the baked goods that covered the floor, only exclaimed. “Fareeha! I was about to nut a big nut, maybe the biggest nut in the whole box of honey nut cheerios that ever was. Now I’ll have to cum another 144 times to get my rice cummies.” The woman pouted, trying not to shove her first into her cunny… yet.

“But my love, we went to space to hunt all those ghosts, and our lust distracted us and we only got the Mothman that was a moth and a man. We still need to get the rest of them, else they will continue to haunt our love nest.”

“Love nest?” Angela asked, confused.

“Yes. I’m talking about the park. We’ve been fucking like wild animals in every corner of this forest. Under every rock, on every tree, above every campfire, in front of every clueless tourist. We’ve turned this haunted place into our love nest, but we need to bust ghosts now and then or they will come back and defile our home with their ghostly juices and make it spooky.”

“Oh no.” Angela said dramatically. “That… that will put an end to the _✧*°☆ lesbian ☆°*✧_ sex! and my clinical masturbation will only go down from there. I want _you_ to go down on _me_.” Tears were rolling down Angela’s cheeks, doing sick tricks on their way, Tony Hawk style.

“Don’t worry, my heart. We just need to bust some ghosts to show them who’s boss here.” Fareeha launched out of bed, squishing twinkies under her feet when she landed. “They will keep us alone for a while and we will continue our carnal endeavors. So suit up, my babe, we are going to the moon.”

“The moon?” Angela’s eyes sparkled with excitement. She shook her head a moment later and the sparkles fell to the floor. “But… I don’t have clean clothes, everything is covered in butternut juice.”

“Oh noes! I don’t have either! We cannot go to the moon with no clothes, it would be too dangerous.” Fareeha sat on the bed, her chin on her fist, air blowing just enough to give her the air of a goddess, her sculptural body making Angela’s brain almost short circuit, but instead it threw an idea at her, like a brick being thrown at a window, but metaphorically, because we don’t want to kill Angela.

“Fareeha, lay down on the bed.”

“My kitty, there’s no time to fuck anymore. We have A MissionTM to accomplish.”

“No no, I don’t want to nut… wait I do, I’m always horny. But… stop it you horny bitch of a mind.” Angela shouted, trying to look at her forehead. To Fareeha she said. “I’m not going to top you right now and…” She clenched her fists and grunted between her teeth. “…you are not going to top me either. Just lay down.”

Fareeha shed a single proud tear after seeing the struggle of her lesbi-friend and did as she was told. Angela placed some clothes on Fareeha’s abdomen and started to wash them. “Nothing like a set of good, toned, sculpted, delicious, pussy melting abs to get rid of the rice cummies stains.”

Angela rubbed the clothes hard on Fareeha’s abs, their hotness was enough to clean the clothes from all the past, present and future nutting. If you want a cleaning set of Fareeha’s hot abs (patent pending), just call 1-800-BETTER-THAN-GENJIS-BALLS and you may receive them from 8 to 16 months right at your doorstep. Just make sure to water them daily with your sweat.

When Angela was done, the couple was ready to go bustghosting. Fareeha wore her flannel tux, standard park ranger uniform, and Angela her devil outfit with 10-inch platforms so she could scare ghosts and reach her lesbi-friend now wife for a kiss whenever she wanted.

They left their hot and wet (if you know what I mean) cabin and Angela was dismayed at the sight of the mountain. “Fareeha, I can’t climb the mountain, not with these flaming platforms that I decided to wear only because I look good on them. And if you carry me, which would be super hot, you wouldn’t be able to shoot ghosts with your not-salt-shakers-totally-salt-bullets in da face.”

“Don’t worry, my half-burned rye bread. We will take the elevatour this time, it will be faster.”

“Don’t you mean elevator?”

“Remember that I’m half-canadian, my jalapeño hot dog. Are your middle fingers tingling?”

Angela flipped off the whole forest, twirling like a madwoman in a carrousel. “Nah.”

“Let’s go then, to the moon!” Fareeha pointed heroically to the giant white orb that loomed over the forest.

They entered the elevator and immediately noticed ghost slime on one of its walls, but Angela’s middle fingers weren’t tingling, so there was no ghosty business going on. The elevator only had two (2) buttons, lesbos and the moon. Fareeha pressed the latter and they went up so fast that their bodies almost became mush, not good lesbian mush, but the other type, the bad, dead one. Fortunately, the flannel and the 10-inch platforms were able to protect them, so they enjoyed the view of the jellyfish that walked with the Earth on its back while they were ascending.

Once they reached the moon, they exited the elevator with almost clean clothes, because let’s admit it, even if the trip was fast, they totally had time for a quiche or two. As soon as Angela set foot on the Moon, her middle fingers tingled like never before. “Fareeha!” Angela raised her arms to chest level, trying to point at everywhere at once. “There’s too many ghosts on the moon! I can’t…” Suddenly, Angela started spinning like a sky dancer toy, and was about to take off into SPACE.

Somehow, Fareeha managed to hug her from behind, but Angela was spinning at 3000 rpm, take off was unavoidable. Fareeha had to think fast before they were yeeted into oblivion.

“My lake sea urchin… bajinkas.” Fareeha said in her lesbi-friend’s ear.

“What?” Despite being spinning like a toy recalled by the government because it was too dangerous for kids and adults, that caught Angela’s attention.

“Remember how much you love my big babonkers? My dobonhonkeros, my tonhongerekoogers, my bonkhonagahoogs, my hungulomghnonoloughongous? Think of that, focus on that.”

Before Angela could pop an innocent bystander’s eye, she calmed down, and even drooled a little thinking about Fareeha’s dohoonkabhankoloos. She stopped spinning and sighed a sigh of relief. “Thank you for grounding me, Fareeha. I was too overwhelmed by all the ghost activity. Now I just need to think of your hangamangerougous to keep me in control.” She said with a hand already stuffed inside her pants.

“No problem, my 5 speed stick-shift sports car. Anything for you.” Fareeha showed a dashing smile. “Let’s bust some ghosts, shall we? Where do we go?”

Angela closed her eyes and let her fingers take over. And no, for once she wasn’t masturbating (that much), by this we mean that her middle fingers pointed in the direction of the strongest ghost. “It’s this way.”

They walked for what felt like ages but instead were only mere minutes, because there was no TV in the moon to check the time. Finally they reached a crater with a ghost so hairy not even a bottle of nair would be enough to be able to see its face. When it saw them approaching, it spoke in what seemed a whisper and a shout at the same time.

“wHo aRe yOu aNd wHy aRe yOu hErE?”

“Who wants to know?” Fareeha replied.

“tHe bIgGeSt, BaDdEsT, hAiRiEsT GhOsT ThIs mOoN HaS EvEr sEeN.”

“You don’t remember your stupid name, do you?” Angela with a smug grin.

The ghost was taken aback, and could say only one thing in its defense: “gAsP!” But then it said more things. “hOw dId yOu kNoW?”

“It’s a medical condition only carried by filthy degenerates, like you.”

The frown had a deep ghost on its face, but before it could reply, Fareeha interrupted it. “Enough talk. I was put on this Earth to bust nuts and bust ghosts, and I’m done with the first one.”

Angela whined as a wounded whiny animal.

Fareeha whispered. “I mean for now, we’ll fuck like bunnies when we finish here.” She cocked her salt shaker shotgun and aimed it at the hairy ghost, but before she could pull the trigger, the ghost interrupted her.

“i dO KnOw yOu. YoU’Re tHe bUsTgHoStEr tHaT ExIlEd mE To tHe mOoN In tHe fIrSt pLaCe.”

“What? I’ve never seen you in my life.” Fareeha said suspiciously with suspicious eyes.

“i dO NoT LiE, bUt yOuR TaTtOo iS On tHe wRoNg sIdE. i rEmEmBeR It wAs oN YoUr lEfT…” Hairy dude shuddered. “…cHeEk.”

“It’s talking about Ana.” Angela was surprised. “I didn’t know your mom used to hunt ghosts.”

“It’s an ancestral task, passed down from mother to daughter since the times of Ronald McDonald. She opened Riverside National Park. Hell, she dug the moat that’s not actually a river with her bare hands.”

“Yo, ghost, how did you get exiled to the moon?” Angela asked.

_*flashbacks of the past, complete with stroboscopic lights*_

The filthy degenerate hairy ghost was frozen in place, staring in horror at what was happening in front of him.

Ana Amari, expert ghost hunter, was twerking her ass in front of it. (Nicki Minaj would have been so proud of her if she were to see her.) She was shameless about it, her ass clappin cheeks were creating shockwaves all around them, making innocent listeners cry in fear of the unknown. She moved that ass with a passion that terrified the ghost to the bones… that is, if it had bones, but it did not.

Ana’s ass clappin cheeks were coming closer and closer and closer to the ghost’s face, but before she could brush it with her ass, the ghost fled to the moon, a pathetic wail emanating from it.

_*no more flashbacks of the past, complete with stroboscopic lights*_

The hairy ghost recovered from its stupefied state and took advantage of the fact that the stroboscopic lights had distracted Fareeha. He held her by the shoulders with hairy strength, making her drop the shotgun, which broke when it hit the ground. “nO MaTtEr. I WiLl nOw pOsSeS YoUr bOdY AnD WrEaK HaVoC BaCk oN EaRtH, aNd eVeRyOnE WiLl bLaMe yOu.” The hairy dude tried to laugh evilly but it came out as a poor imitation of Charlie Chaplin.

Fareeha struggled but couldn’t get herself free, but the not evil laugh ceased pretty quickly.

“wHy? WhY CaN’T I PoSsEsS YoUr bOdY?” Hairy dude said exasperated.

“We are under the moon’s protection, because everyone knows…” -dramatic pause- “…that the moon is a lesbian.” Angela shot the ghost and it exploded in millions of slimy pieces.

Miraculously, not one of them slimy pieces touched either of them. “My mocha coffee with 5 extra shots, you did it!” Fareeha hugged Angela tightly. “But where did the shotgun come from?”

“I always carry a spare in my ponytail.”

“I love you so much, lesbi-friend, did you know that?”

“I wasn’t sure till now. Same.” Angela kissed Fareeha passionately in the mouth, hoping to get that half Canadian French kiss that she was owed. “Wait! I want you to raw me like I’ve never been rawed before, but not here. I don’t want to impose on the moon, besides, there’s not even a bed.”

“We just have to take the elevatour back, my smelly trout.”

“That’s the problem, I don’t know where we left it. What if it went to take a walk.” Angela said concerned.

Fareeha got pensive for a moment, posing like a star in a nerd movie. “You got a point there, but I think I have the solution. Just hold tight onto me.”

Angela happily did so, and Fareeha took a deep breath before loudly exclaiming. “THESE BITCHES ARE EMPTY!”

The moon started rotating slowly towards space, and then she rotated on the opposite direction, towards the Earth, with astounding speed.

Angela and Fareeha were now falling to the Earth.


	6. Bock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fried chicken y'all  
> Like, a lot

They crash landed through the roof, which happened to be the same roof that covered Angela’s desk, in which they both fell in a lesbian manner atop the swivel chair. It was pretty sick.

“What the fuck?” Angela angrily swiveled in her swivel chair, unintentionally giving her wifey gal-pal a headache from all the rough movement. “Who did this?”

“Did what?” Fareeha grabbed the desk to stop the swiveling. The chair ceased its torturous barrage but Angela kept swerving. More specifically, she kept rubbing her ass against Fareeha’s crotch. Fareeha was 10000000% okay with that. In fact, she gripped the desk harder just to, you know. You know.

“Does this look okay to you my sweet honey ~~bunches of oats~~ nut cheerios?” Angela spun around in the chair and shoved a bucket onto Fareeha’s chest. She was aiming for the hands but they seemed preoccupied.

An assortment of chicken fell into Fareeha’s lap. Legs, wings, and more importantly breasts. Actually, Fareeha was more of a thigh kinda gal, but that’s for another time. “Chicken? It’s just chicken, what’s wrong with that?”

“Look closer! What’s missing????” The severity of the situation had Angela in tears. Tears from her skin ‘cause she was sweating profusely from the stress.

Fareeha picked up a wing and turned it over in her hand. It was cold, understandable since they were in space for like at least an hour or something. She took a test bite and nodded in understanding. “It has no seasoning.”

Angela picked up two giant pieces of breast and squeezed them between her fingers in frustration. “No! I mean…” The more she thought about it, the more she realized that Fareeha was technically right, “Okay so yeah? A little. I mean a lot. Fine, yes!” She huffed in a big breath and wiped her brows. They were now slick with chicken juice. “But why is there no seasoning?”

Fareeha resisted all urges to stare off lesbianly into the void for the cool factor. She knew it made her look sexy as hell but now wasn’t the time. Maybe in ten minutes. Ten sexy minutes. “They forgot where the salt was?”

“My sweet toaster strudel…” Angela gripped Fareeha’s face between her palms and smiled at the effort, “The skin is gone.” She stroked her love’s chicken greased face with gentle sadness. “The best part is gone. What kind of monster could have done this?”

The skinless chicken fell to the floor as Fareeha picked up her honey bun. Also, she really wanted the chicken off her lap since the grease was trickling down her pant legs. It felt oddly sexual and she was afraid of what that meant. (Was chicken juice her new kink?? Judging by the pleasant tingling on her face, the signs pointed to…maybe.) “It’s alright babe, I’ll get you a new bucket of fried chicken. I bet it was a prank or something.”

The reassurance from her wife made Angela feel better. Or that could have been from the seven fingers shoved up her burning furnace. “I want just thighs and breasts.”

“I don’t think that’s how a bucket of chicken works?” She was pretty sure they put the right amount of various fried chicken to reanimate a whole bird should you want to…minus the head.

“Pls?”

“Did you… Just say please in text speech?”

“I used text to speech. Or was it speech to text?” Angela climbed down from her wife to ponder the predicament she found herself in. “Both?” She disappeared out the door. Not through it or above it and definitely not _under_ it. Out it, okay?

Angela continued her leisurely pace as she pondered her thoughts that were pondering until she got smacked in the face with something. A lone drumstick, naked as it came because it had no skin on it, duh. “The fuck?”

She backed away from the abomination in horror and then realized the predicament she found herself on. Yeah, on. Anyway, a mist surrounded her. Angela took a lick of it because it was that thick. Oil. More specifically, oil used to fry chicken. She carefully removed five of her fingers from her fiery cave, nervous that the flames of her love juices would ignite the grease. Would that mean se would then be turned into fried chicken? She was almost curious enough to find out. Almost.

“Where are you?” She backed away, feeling another piece of abomination chicken hit the back of her head. Definitely a wing. “Why are you doing this?”

A haunting voice answered, one Angela would fear for the rest of her days. “B **o** ck.”

“Aw fuck, I didn’t think that you’d actually answer me and scare the piss out of me.”

“Boc **k**.” 

“Shut the fuck up.” Angela fell to her knees and covered her ears. She periodically licked at the air because it tasted pretty damn good. “I’m good, you can just go.” Her middle fingers started to tingle and she groaned. It’s supposed to say “her middle fingers tingled” to be more dynamic because using started in a sentence that doesn’t actually require a start such as a test or a timer is cheesy.

An arm wrapped lesbianly around Angela’s shoulders. Definitely her sweet crocodile, Fareeha. “I got you babe.” They ran out of the delicious, greasy mist in under five hours. They got lost. Like, a lot.

“Here.” Fareeha handed Angela a bucket, beaming proudly at her accomplishment.

“Sweet barbeque sauce, what the hell is this?” Angela held the bucket at arm’s length, a sick grimace covering her face. Like, it slathered her skin, stretching over where her teeth were (I’m supposing you can call them lips? Maybe?) like a canvas, that was also stretched. It spread atop her gums, like peanut butter on bread, but like the bread was kind of toasted cause it’s easier to spread peanut butter like that. Honestly, maybe grimace was the best term in the first place. Metaphors are hard.

“What do you mean?” Mean as in intended, not mean as in being a dick. The distinction was very important to Fareeha.

“Take a look!” Angela handed the bucket back to Fareeha, tears in her eyes. No not sweat, actual tears. Was there supposed to be a comma after no? Perplexing to say the least.

Fareeha felt her heart drop, she really should have picked it back up. “No…”

“Yes.”

“It can’t be.”

“I’m afraid it is. Like, I’m actually afraid. Terrified is the word really.”

The bucket Fareeha had so lovingly procured was filled with fried chicken… Every piece missing its skin. “How could this happen?”

Angela put a reassuring hand on Fareeha’s shoulder. She made sure not use her soul sucking hand. That one was safely lodged into her Panama Canal. “One word for you babe. It’s-a-ghost.”

“That was three?”

“No, they were hyphenated.”

“Oh, yeah, of-course.”

Fareeha pulled out her salt-shaker shotgun and loaded it. “We’re gonna get this fucker.”

“It’s not here now, where should we start looking? Perhaps back in that troublesome mist that was also super tasty? Like, it was essence of fried chicken just floating around everywhere. Oh god, I can still taste it. Yeah, let’s go back.”

“Sorry babe, I know a better place. The Snack Shack.”

“They only serve boiled peanuts and hotdogs. Very specific snacks.”

“Today they have a special: Fried chicken.”

Angela grabbed Fareeha’s hand and they basically teleported to the Snack Shack. Angela had to grab the fire extinguisher because their legs were on fire. Much like the molten volcano hidden within her shorts. You know.

Angela ran to the disinterested employee and slammed her head on the counter. Yeah, her head. It was more dramatic that way. “A bucket. I want a whole bucket.” A trail of blood spilled down her head. She licked it as it dripped over her lips. Angela was positive it made her look cool. Almost as cool as Fareeha, the pinnacle of cool, like the sun, which is hot, but she’s both.

“Um… A bucket?”

“Yes, the special, one whole bucket.”

“It’s a pick two pieces sort of deal. You get mashed potatoes or green beans as a side.”

“You don’t get both?”

“We should offer that, but we don’t.”

The news spiked Angela’s condition. “My sugar bread, can you talk some sense into this guy? Things are about to get clinical over by that tree.”

“Yeah, no problem. A bucket right?”

Angela smiled. Just a plain smile. Nothing extra. Okay maybe she showed some teeth. “Thank you so much.”

As Angela took off to tear a new dimension into her slicked slip-n-slide, Fareeha slammed her hand down on the counter, picking up where Angela left off. “A bucket.”

“You were standing right next to that lady when I said I couldn’t do that.”

“Damn.” Fareeha slammed her hand on the counter again, this time out of frustration rather than to scare the guy. “Can’t I like get enough chicken to fill a bucket?”

“I guess.”

“How much.”

“$32”

“This is robbery, you know that right?”

“You get like four sides and eight pieces of chicken.”

Fareeha crossed her arms, not convinced of the supposed “deal”. “I do this because I love my wife. A lot.” She tossed a wad of cash onto the counter and watched as the guy had to count her greasy money. She actually felt bad and wanted to take it back so she could wash the money in the river that was a moat but felt that it would be awkward to ask now that he was halfway through counting it.

“Okay, I actually don’t have a bucket to put the chicken in. Is that okay?”

It wasn’t. “Just…” She tore off her ultra-deluxe, cool, ranger hat and placed it delicately on the counter. Delicate because she was feeling guilty and also she really didn’t want to use her hat as a fried chicken bucket but she’d sacrifice it for her wife, “Put it in here.”

Angela came back from behind that tree with a grin. “Did you get the bucket?”

“Um…,” Fareeha slowly raised the hat full of chicken and offered it to Angela, “it came with a novelty bucket.”

“I knew they were holding out on us!” Angela took the hat and held it to her chest. She picked up a piece of fried chicken and gave it a sniff. Delicious. “What happened to your hat my Captain Crunch?”

“I was feeling a little overheated… So I threw it in the river.”

“Oh, that makes sense. To cool off the hat.”

Fareeha watched the grease soak through her hat and grimaced. No metaphors today folks. “Yep.”

“Well, I know that the plan we never spoke of was to use this fried chicken as bait but I hope you don’t mind that I eat a piece.”

Fareeha didn’t mind. Because she wholeheartedly intended for Angela to eat the chicken in the first place. By the time she had to pay $32 for a bucket of chicken, she forgot all about that damn ghost. “Yeah, go ahead.”

Angela brought a delectable piece to her lips and took a bite. Her eyes shot open and she spit the bit of chicken out of her mouth. “N-no…” She dropped her novelty bucket that was actually Fareeha’s hat and backed away. “It was just fine a moment ago.”

Fareeha picked up her sad hat and looked down into it sadly. It was soaked with grease and since she was trying really hard to deny that chicken juice was her kink, she was reluctant to put it back on. Four uses of the word was in one sentence, big no-no folks.

Doing the only reasonable thing, Fareeha chucked her hat across the park, knowing in her heart of hearts that it would land in the river and not that bear den. Please land in the river.

While on her knees, because Angela totally fell to her knees after dropping her bucket, Angela heard the rushing of water, which was odd because the river was on the other side of the park. Well, it was on all sides of the park on the count of it being a moat. She grabbed Fareeha’s hand and they rushed to the source of it.

They got to a clearing in the forest and stood dumbfounded at the sight. A puddle. It was just a puddle with a Bluetooth speaker sitting next to it. It played some dope-ass rushing water sounds. Angela gave it that.

“Is it me or…” Fareeha bent down near the puddle and touched it with exactly two fingers. Any more and she’d look decidedly uncool. “Is this a puddle of oil?”

Angela bent down as well and stuck her whole hand in. It kind of turned her on so she stuck her other hand somewhere else. Somewhere warmer. You know.

Maybe it was because that Angela was masturbating at the same time as touching that oil but a portal opened in the puddle, sucking them both inside.

They fell into a river, a river filled with grease. It was a lazy river on account of the pool floaties littering the oil’s surface. Angela wanted to reach for one for maximum fun but Fareeha was already pulling her to shore.

While they sat on shore wondering where the hell they were, Angela spotted something swimming in the river. Floating. She meant floating. “My sweet pineapple, I found your hat!”

Fareeha eyed the grease soaked hat and swallowed a grimace. She took the offered hat with a pained smile. How the hell did it end up here. She put it on and groaned at the incredible sexual energy that radiated from her head and spread down to her toes. Yep. It was totally a new kink.  (Also, this blatant change of perspective isn’t supposed to be a thing cause that’s bad writing. Y’all didn’t read this, m’kay?)

“Woah, is that a cabin in the middle of the woods?”

Fareeha swiveled her head at her wife’s gasp of words and nodded. Indeed. It was.

“Let’s head towards the obvious place we’re supposed to avoid.”

It sounded right, despite actually sounding horribly wrong and the fact that Angela’s middle fingers were practically buzzing from the ghostly energy emanating from that cabin. “Yeah babe, I’m right behind you.”

“You’re not going to be in front?”

“Uh… Why?”

“Cause you have the shotgun?”

“Oh, yeah, yeah.” Fareeha really didn’t want to be there because she was busy protecting Dat AssTM but she ran in front regardless of her feelings on the matter. (Remember, you’re not supposed to know them anyway.)

Angela opened the door to the cabin and saw a singular fried chicken thigh sitting on the floor. “Oh my Sappho. That’s mine!” She made a mad dash for the holy grail of fried chicken, wincing when she hit the floor, but also smiling cause she had the fried chicken in her grasp. “You’re mine now.”

The skin on the chicken pealed (peeled?) away before her very eyes. Like someone took a high-suction vacuum to the piece of chicken and put it on max settings. The crispy skin flew to the other side of the room where a creature gripped it between its teeth. It slurped it up in one go.

Angela watched in terror as the chicken skin reappeared on the creature’s skinless flesh (is that a thing? Can that be used as a descriptor?) As her terrified eyes roamed its delicious looking body she noticed something. It had chicken skin from all major fried chicken joints. KFC, Popeye’s, Church’s Chicken, LA Chicken, and even the only fried chicken place they had in Switzerland, Frittiertes Hühnchen, was there.

“Dear Sappho, this thing is an abomination!”

Fareeha rolled in front of Angela and pumped her salty vengeance into the creature. You know, because of the salt shakers for bullets.

The creature tilted its neck, on the count of it not having a head, in confusion. “ **B** oc **k**?”

Angela screamed. “You just seasoned it more!”

Fareeha dropped her shotgun in similar horror. “H-how do we kill it?”

“I..” Angela got up on shaky legs and walked closer to the creature. “I think we have to eat it.”

“Angela please don’t. The idea of that is really gross.”

“But look at all that chicken skin! It’s gotta be delicious. You don’t have to eat it, just let me.”

A singular tear fell down Fareeha’s cheek, right from her eyeball, because she was hella relieved she didn’t have to eat it. “You’re so brave babe.”

For five hours, Fareeha watched in a mixture of oddly sexual and disgusting awe as her wife went to town on that terrifying creature. She felt sweat spill down her face. Upon closer inspection, okay so she licked it, she found it was actually grease. Kinda hot. The sensation, not the grease.

When Angela finished her meal, she smiled in satisfaction and rubbed her tummy. It was full cause chicken. “Let’s go home my sweet 4k tv.”

And they didn’t go home, cause they were still on the clock.

 

 


	7. Role Reversal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angela and Fareeha enjoy retirement

Once all of the ghosts on earth were defeated Angela and Fareeha took another honeymoon to some place with a bedroom. They could totally hear water outside as they used every surface for fun gal pal activities that even they had trouble believing were platonic.

Eventually they ran out of money and had to return to the park, but everything was too quiet there with no ghosts to bust. They busted honey nut cheerios instead, but eventually they had to stop to eat something that couldn’t be slathered - as much fun as slathering could be.

They realized that life on earth was boring with no ghosts to bust, and that the police wouldn’t be so forgiving if they continued to rack up indecent exposure charges at the rate they had. “Why don’t we go to space?” Fareeha suggested. “There’s plenty of ghosts up there! Look at them!”

Angela was having a hard time concentrating because she’d gone two and a half minutes and eighteen seconds without touching herself, and that was close to her limit of two and a half minutes and 23 seconds. She tried to focus, but at two and a half minutes and 21 seconds she plunged her hands into her pants with a needy whine.

“Were you listening?”

“I was trying to!” Angela supported herself against the wall, playing the best point and click game of her life as Fareeha looked on in amusement. She couldn’t see Angela’s hands but she could tell that she was on a winning streak.

“We should go into space! There’s plenty of ghosts up there.”

Angela looked out the window but all she saw were trees and stars. “How can you tell?

Fareeha narrowed her eyes at the sky. A breeze flung open the window to give her the gust of dramatic wind which was appropriate for the conversation. “I can feel them up there mocking me.”

“Does their mockery feel like mosquito bites?”

Fareeha didn’t know how to describe it, but it was annoying like a mosquito bite. “Yes.”

“Then I feel it too.”

They launched off as soon as Angela launched her metaphorical rocket. Stating that it’s a metaphorical rocket is important so that the reader understands that she wasn’t into hobbyist model making, although her steady doctor hands would make her a natural. That is to say she got the tingles from her fingers, not to be confused with tingles in her fingers, those were for finding ghosts.

As it turned out, space was full of ghosts, but they went on an epic montage of ghost killings and it was great. Halfway through the music stopped and they had to stop to reaffirm their love and power up with cuddles, but after that the epic guitar solo continued and so did their killing spree.

Eventually all of the ghosts were dead and they traveled back to earth, content that their jobs were totally done. Fareeha stared up at the starless night with a smile bright enough to light it. “The complete absence of ghosts has made me hotter for you than I’ve ever been. Let’s lose ourselves in carnal delight.” Wait, except sometimes Angela got confused about phrasings like that. “I mean sex, not a massive dinner, although I am hungry.” Her stomach growled to illustrate her point. “I want dinner,” she decided, “but sex first.”

“Let’s have dinner,” Angela suggested with a sigh. “I don’t really feel like sex.”

Fareeha’s neck made a sound like a record scratching as she did thirty seven double takes. Her wife didn’t feel like going to town? Not an actual town. She often didn’t want to make trips to the city, but she always enjoyed pound land.  

“You don’t feel like sex?” Fareeha blinked several times and then looked at her wife’s hands.

They were folded in her lap.

Something about this was suspicious. She set her stopwatch, but two and a half minutes and forty eight seconds passed and Angela hadn’t so much as groped herself.

Something was seriously wrong.

“Are you feeling okay?” Fareeha ventured. She didn't know how to start helping. Maybe if there were other symptoms they could find out the cause of this.

Angela turned and swiveled around until her profile was to Fareeha. She placed one foot on her chair and leaned against her leg, as if she were looking off to some glorious horizon. Or, like, a cue marker that they were using on set to signify the horizon. Sometimes it was just hard to visualize those sorts of things without a reference point.

She looked so damn cool.

A slight breeze found its way into the house to gently blow back her hair.

Fareeha stared, panicked and aroused by the sight of her wife. It was her job to strike dramatic poses! It was her job to stare defiantly at the unconquered horizon- or at least the studio prop they used to signify the horizon!

Unsure of what else to do, Fareeha stuck her hand down her pants. It was awkward because her pants weren’t designed for clinical masturbation, but she unfastened them with her free hand and then it was easier.

The motion captured Angela’s attention. “What are you doing?”

“I don’t know!” Fareeha’s eyes were with with confusion and sudden arousal as she bruised her peach. “I have to be you for this chapter!”

Angela’s confusion manifested as a cloud above her head. It was a metaphor symbolic enough that neither of them understood it, but they knew that literature teachers would praise the phrasing in a few centuries. “Chapter?”

“Of...our lives.” What else could she have meant? It was hard to concentrate when she was getting tingly from squishing her grape.

Right. That was obviously what she meant. How else did people talk about chapters?

Angela chose that moment to look suspiciously close to where the cameras were hidden.

After a beat of several seconds she returned her attention to her panting wife. She did look good like that, but the mood was just gone. “I wish I could get a tingle,” she lamented. “Even just in my fingers.” The ghosts were gone now. Even the ones in the sky had been snuffed out, and that was actually pretty dangerous now that she thought about it because the sun had technically been a ghost. Would it stay night forever now?

That didn’t feel as important as her wife’s need to masturbate.

“Do I look that sexy when I do that?”

“You’re- ungh- unbelievably sexy.” Fareeha’s voice was strained from pureeing her strawberries.

Angela had had no idea! It was almost enough to make her reach toward her pants, but she lost the urge halfway there. “We have to find out what’s happening! My clinical masturbation is cured, but I can’t manage any arousal at all. How will I make sure we have a happy marriage if I don’t do fruit related things to your vagina?”

“We’ve never used fruit before,” Fareeha reminded her just before she exploded like a produce cart. That is to say that she came super hard and it was lit. She didn’t explode for real. Junkrat isn’t in this fic.

“Well we could try if we found out what’s happening to me!”

Fareeha tipped her head to the side in admission. It wasn’t chicken grease, but fruit might not be so bad either. “When did you feel this starting? When was the last time you masturbated?”

Angela frowned and sat back down on her chair, resting her chin on her fist in pensive deliberation. “It must have been during our final ghost fight- That’s it!” She stood suddenly, knocking the chair over and shaking out her long gorgeous blonde locks. They’d need to secure the cabin before they left. “It’s the ghosts! There aren’t any more and they took my tinglies with them!

Fareeha only heard half of that because she’d started pickling her radish again, having moved on from fruits to vegetables. However, she did notice the bundle of locks in Angela’s hands. “Are we going somewhere?”

“We have to find more ghosts!”

That was impossible. Eventually more would be created, but they’d cleared out all the ghosts in the universe! Now they were on vacation. “There aren’t anymore. We killed them all.”

Angela’s eyes welled with tears the size crocodiles. “Then we’ll have to make some. I can’t get the tingles back without ghosts!”

Fareeha frowned. This was a big problem. Then again, so was her wife being unable to make bad fruit metaphors. Something had to be done. “Okay, but let me. You shouldn’t get your hands dirty.” Metaphorically. Metaphors were a big problem in these parts, always confusing what people were saying.

Angela frowned as Fareeha started toward the kitchen. Her condition was advancing quickly. It looked like she was getting ready to start some masterbaking. “Dirty? Is there a special way to make ghosts?”

Fareeha sighed as she did something fruit related in the kitchen. “No, you just kill people. Did you want to get creative?”

Angela gasped. She didn’t think the first time Fareeha mentioned getting creative it would be when murder was involved. “No! I don’t want to murder people at all!”

“We have to!” Fareeha tried to sob, but she wasn’t that good an actress. She had to leave the crying to Angela. “Otherwise you might never masturbate again!”

That was a problem, but was it worth killing people over? As a doctor, Angela had taken an oath. She was supposed to do no harm. She knew that Fareeha was willing to kill for her, but could she allow that to happen? Couldn’t she just wait for people to die on their own? Maybe say mean things that would turn them into ghosts instead of letting them pass on?

No, she couldn’t do that either.

“Okay, but we have to kill them nicely.”

“Nicely?”

Angela nodded. “Yes, lets bake some nice poisoned cookies. Then people will die with delicious baked goods in their mouth.”

Actual tears welled in Fareeha’s eyes as she looked at her beautiful wife. They didn’t fall, but they did make Angela looks extra fuzzy and angelic. She was so kind, even in the hardest moments. “I’ll need your help. I’m not used to baking one handed.”

Angela nodded and stepped forward to give Fareeha a hand to compensate for the one down her pants. It would have gone faster if she’d used both of hers so they had three, but she wasn’t used to baking with two hands. She used the other to take cute selfies of the two of them so they’d have a nice memory later.

Once the cookies were done they wrapped them up and drove into town. There was some debate over where they should leave the cookies, but they stuck a sign the read “free” on them and brought them to the local college, trusting students not to suspect free food.

They parked and were walking toward the main campus when they heard a ruckus from an alleyway.

“What was that?” Angela furrowed her brows and dashed daringly dtoward dthe dsound. Fareeha tried to keep up with her even though her pants were gathered around her knees.

Inside the alley they saw two women making out around a cluster of dead bodies. They were both clad in dark colors and purples and hadn’t noticed the two of them…

Yet.

Angela gasped and they turned to face her. Fareeha forced herself to stop masturbating long enough to join her wife with the cookies.

“These people! You killed them!” Angela stared in shock, but her hands shook at her sides. “They’re becoming ghosts!”

“You can feel the tingling?” Fareeha laughed and swept her wife into a deep kiss. She was happy to note that Angela had already wriggled a hand between them to tease herself.

“I’m tingling all over!”

As happy as she was to have ghosts again, Fareeha was curious what these people did to deserve being killed. “What happened here?”

The strangers looked at her, one of them speaking up in a borderline offensive french accent filled with unnecessary letters. “Hno’tings. Hkeelings hturnss huss hons.”

That was reprehensible, but it did solve their problem neatly so Fareeha didn’t try to stop them when one of the women produced a grappling hook and the other disappeared.

“We should leave before the police arrive.”

They hurried home to dispose of the poisoned cookies responsibly and then settled in to a life of jam making lesbian fun times.

You’d think that given the clear ending of this chapter that they’d be finished, but they’ll probably have one more chapter anyway to tie up loose ends.


	8. Ghosty Dildos

Angela sank down onto her and Fareeha’s space couch, pooting heavily. It had been a long and stressful day of ghost-busting in space.

The worst part was, Angela hadn’t eaten in 26 space-days. “I would enjoy a muffin,” Angela said aloud.

Now that Angela mentioned it, Fareeha was pretty hungry, too. “I could go to town and see if I can obtain space currency.”

“I don’t want space currency,” Angela wept (John 11:35). “I want a muffin.”

“Money can be exchanged for goods and services,” Fareeha explained.

But Angela wasn’t listening. She was mournfully going to party-town on her Pecan Pattie, fingers pumping with the fluidity of Walter Freeman II M.D. performing an effortless lobotomy.

Suddenly, Fareeha was struck with an idea. “I know what we can do, my slick oil spill.”

Angela looked up from her throbbing flesh tuxedo. “What is it?”

“You like the pleasuring devices I’ve made you, haven’t you?”

“Oh yes,” Angela chuckled lesbianly. The sex toys Fareeha lovingly crafted with her steady, warm, LGBTQ+ hands gave Angela tsunami wetties.

“I could make a business selling them up here,” Fareeha gurgled. “The sex toy market is so unsaturated in space.” (Not to be confused with unsaturated fatty acids, though Angela did like to be called that in bed.)

“You want to sell sex toys to the ghosts and aliens?”

“Yes!” Fareeha ejaculated. “We could make billions! Maybe even millions.”

Angela orgasmed in Deutsch. It was a brilliant idea. Fareeha was a geniuusée. (There’s an extra ‘u’ because Fareeha’s haulf Caunaudiaun.)

“I will begin crafting the ghost dildos tomorrow,” Fareeha whispered. Angela moAned. She loved when Fareeha talked dirty to her. It just knocked her crotch undergarments (panties) right clean off.

Fareeha touched Angela’s Zero G frittertitties. _Good thing I’m not wearing a titty cage_ , Angela thought. Her ripe cabbage field was ready for harvest. “Fuck me like the tenderizer at KFC,” Angela hollered.

“I enjoy it when you forego your breast undergarment,” Fareeha testified, suddenly pumping her fingers into Angela’s void. They continued in this way for some time. “Come for me, my greasebucket…”

Once Fareeha had thoroughly pleasured Angela’s haggis, neeps, and tatties, Angela undid the Velcro on Fareeha’s plaid shirt with a loud **_XXCCHRCHRRHCRIICht._**

It was now time for her to fuck Fareeha in a non-platonic way.

Angela was just getting into a good rhythm on Fareeha’s Suez Canal when her fingers started to tingle. Anger burst through Angerla’s veins. _Not now!_ Couldn’t the ghosts bother her when she _wasn’t_ bringing Fareeha down to funky town?

Fareeha’s moans stopped abruptly, noticing that Angela’s fingers were no longer bringing her to funky town. “What’s wrong, my crispy drumstick?” Fareeha asked.

Angela was standing on her head now, on the floor of their space apartment. This wasn’t for any particular ghost-busting reason. Angela just stood on her head when she was stressed.

“There’s a ghost here,” Angela said.

“Hello,” said Walter Freeman II, M.D.

“YOU!” Angela exploded.

Walter Freeman II, M.D. twirled his tiny metal hammer devilishly. Fareeha got the salt shaker shotgun ready, but Angela stopped her. “Give me a space-second,” Angela said, taking the gun-that-was-actually-a-salt-shaker and dusting nonexistent dust off her shoulders. “I can handle this.”

Angela coughed loudly, and then got into her favourite power stance—the upwards squatting cat. She yodeled a quick Ukranian song to power herself up (though she sang it in Serbian).

“YOU ALWAYS KNEW!” Angela shouted. “YOU ALWAYS KNEW LOBOTOMIES WERE HARMFUL. YOU WERE KILLING YOUR PATIENTS’ MINDS! ALL YOU WANTED WAS TO TURN OUT A PROFIT. YOU WERE A SICK MAN. YOU DESERVE TO BE BUSTED, YOU FUCKER. YOU AND YOUR ORBITOCLAST BETTER FUCK OFF.”

Walter Freeman II, M.D. was shook. His orbitoclast fell to the floor, and his cigarette crumbled into ash, just like his marriage.

“AND TO MAKE MATTERS EVEN WORSE, YOU KEPT ME FROM FUCKING MY GIRLFRIEND,” Angela finished.

Angela shot the salt gun and busted Walter Freeman II, M.D. He vaporized on the spot. Fareeha pressed F to pay her respects. He was certainly dead. Or DoubleDead, Fareeha supposed, seeing as he had already been a ghost.

“Can’t believe he tried to cross me,” Angela said. “Bitch needs to learn primum fucking non nocere.”

Suddenly Sappho materialized into their space apartment. She was clapping, along with the rest of the school bus.

Fareeha suddenly felt gayer than she ever had before. Angela had two legs. Fareeha liked that about her. She liked that a whole lot.

“I just wanted to thank you two for being the most entertaining lesbians I’ve ever had the pleasure of watching over,” said Sappho lesbianly. “Once you ladies kick the bucket, you’re welcome to come over for movie nights up in the Lesbos in the sky.”

Fareeha didn’t hear what Sappho was saying. She looked at Angela’s legs again. They were both still there.

Angela noticed Fareeha’s eyes boring a hole into her thighs. She looked at Sappho questioningly.

“Oh,” said Sappho. “Sometimes my presence has that effect. Sorry. She’ll be fine within an hour. Before I leave, take this.”

Sappho handed Angela $5789 dollars’ worth of Hayley Kiyoko merch. “It’s $5789 dollars’ worth of Hayley Kiyoko merch,” Sappho explained helpfully.

Then Sappho vanished lesbianly.

Fareeha had two working brain cells now. Both of them were lesbian cells joyriding tiny Subarus across her dying brain matter.

Through gay tunnel vision, Fareeha noticed that Angela was not wearing a ring. Even with two brain cells, Fareeha knew it meant something when a woman did not wear a wedding ring. Usually, it meant that she was not married. 

Which meant that _she_ could marry Angela.

“Wow _,_ ” said Owen Wilson at this shocking development.

Oblivious to Fareeha’s thoughts, Angela looked at the pile of Hayley Kiyoko merch in her arms mournfully. It weighed 369 pounds. “I still want a muffin,” she said.

Fareeha remained too gay to say anything back.

Angela would have to masturbake one herself.

* * *

Fareeha and Angela opened their Space Sex Toy Shop approximately 4.6 space-days later, after Fareeha had increased her brain cell total to her usual count of seven. After just a day, the shop was bustling with activity, just like all the ghost-nuts they had freshly facilitated the busting of.

They quickly racked up the cash. After just 2 space-months, they had made enough money to pay rent on their space-apartment. Angela was even able to purchase a muffin.

“Have you noticed something, Angela?” Fareeha asked one morning, assembling a dildo.

If Angela was being totally honest, she had noticed many things within her lifetime thus far. “What?”

“We haven’t been attacked by ghosts in 46 space-days,” Fareeha said.

Angela pondered this for approximately fourteen space-hours. “You’re right,” she said finally. Indeed, her fingers hadn’t tingled to signify danger in 46 space-days (though she hadn’t lost her other tinglies. If you know what I mean.)

“This is amazing,” Fareeha exulted. “Our sex toy shop is such a success that the ghosts are fucking each other instead of bothering us. Maybe they weren’t evil this whole time. Maybe they were just….. horny.”

Angela pondered this for another 16 space-hours. “Does that mean we’ll lose our jobs?” Angela ejected.

“We don’t get paid for ghost-busting in space, Angela. We run a sex toy shop.”

Suddenly, Fareeha remembered the name tag she always wore. It read _Fareeha Amari, Ghostbuster_. She hurled it across the room. She wasn’t a Ghostbuster any longer. She was a _Ghost Nutbuster._ A new nametag sprouted out of her chest—it read _Fareeha Amari, Ghost Nutbuster_.

Angela watched this, unphased. Then she nodded. “We need to spread our ministry to Planet Earth,” she said passionately. Her ass cheeks wiggled in fervor.

Fareeha cupped Angela’s cheeks (both the ones on her face and the ones on her ass, at the same time). “You’re right, my 1998 Toyota Sienna. It is our destiny now—to bust ghostly nuts,” Fareeha rasped loudly. (She wasn’t hurt or anything. She just enjoyed the drama of it all.)

“But before we leave, we must do one thing,” Fareeha said.

“What is it, my Captain Crunch?” Angela inquired.

Fareeha looked into the distance, at the horizon that suddenly appeared in their living room. “Femifisting,” Fareeha said.

Angela nodded sagely. Indeed.

 _Femifisting._ It was like fisting, but in a feminist way. After every pump, they’d discuss their plans to dismantle the patriarchy. It was one of Angela’s favourite activities. She had the wetties and the tinglies just thinking about it.

Fareeha put her index finger inside of Angela. “We must demand equal pay for equal work.”

Angela moaned. “What else, baby?”

Fareeha added another finger. “Two year full-pay maternity leave and free, government-funded daycare.”

“Yes,” Angela hummed, “ _more_.”

Fareeha added a third finger. “Universal basic income for all, as poverty affects women disproportionately.”

“I can take more,” Angela whispered, “so much more.”

Fareeha added the rest of her fingers. “Free healthcare for all, the elimination of gendered double standards among healthcare professionals, and improved access to birth control and safe, legal abortions.”

“Oh, femifist me, Fareeha,” Angela moaned.

Fareeha wiggled around so that her whole fist was submerged in Angela’s void. She began to pump. Angela was _so_ wet. “Using knowledge of how sexism intersects with other forms of discrimination, such as racism, classism, heterosexism, cissexism, ableism, and ageism to inform our policies.”

Fareeha began to tease Angela’s critter-us with one of her other hands, while continuing to pump with the first. “Elimination of the cultural and physical barriers that still prevent women from entering and advancing in male-dominated fields.”

Angela grabbed at Fareeha’s shirt, flushed, a silent plea to keep going in her pleasured eyes. “Elimination of all gendered stereotypes,” Fareeha continued, “and respect for those defy society’s rigid expectations, sometimes by very nature of their existence.”

“Just say the words,” Angela rasped, barely holding on, “and I’m yours.”

Fareeha whispered it gently, emotion catching her throat. “Slitfoldspussyclitclit.”

Angela came harder, and more progressively, than she ever had before. Justin Trudeau would have clapped performatively, had he been there. But he wasn’t. That would be weird.

* * *

Angela looked up at her favourite planet one last time. It was their last morning in space, and Angela wouldn’t be able to see this particular planet from earth. It was called That _Bittchin_ ’ Planet (Angela knew this because NASA tried to call her sometimes. Or maybe it was the NSA. Either way, it was so annoying.)

Angela munched on her N&N’s®. Typically Alien M&Ms, which they called N&N’s® in space, were not a breakfast food, but because they were the most delicious things Angela had ever placed upon her terrestrial lips, she made daily exceptions.

That made her think about hair care. Angela didn’t use conditioner. She belly-laughed directly through her stomach. She hadn’t used it since the war.

Suddenly Fareeha walked in, holding the parachutes, patented as Earthashutes™, that they would use to return to Earth®.

After they had suited themselves up, Fareeha touched Angela’s left hand, because she was using the other one to masturbate. “I love you and I’ll see you on the earth,” Fareeha said wordlessly.

Angela nodded wordfully.

Then. They. Jumped.

It turned out falling through the galaxy was a good time as ever to dissociate. Fareeha thought about playing Jenga with Spicy Hot Cheetos®.

Eventually, they landed softly inside the warehouse of a popular Canadian mattress retailer that always hovered approximately 10 metres above the Earth.

A small, hobbling troll blocked the exit before they could leave. “Before I let you return to earth, give me your wisdom,” he said.

Fareeha thought for a moment. “Women good,” she said.

The small, hobbling troll talked amongst himself, except there was nobody else there. “Very well,” he finally said. “Your wisdom has been accepted.”

Another mattress waited for them at the bottom of the 10m jump down to Earth®.

“That was an incredible feat,” said Fareeha. Not to be confused with an incredible feet. Though Fareeha might have thought Angela had sexy toes, had she been into that.

Angela nodded as Fareeha looked around. She had missed the nature of her home planet Earth®. Birds chirped, the sky was blue, and the grass was green.

But not any green.

L

i

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e

 

g

r

e

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n.

Now that they were back on Earth, ghosts were setting off the tingling in Angela’s fingers again (not to be confused with the tinglies, which were different). Fareeha and Angela decided on Florida for the location of their earthly sex toy store, because it was the only place they could think of where a ghost sex toy shop would be ignored by the news in exchange for the 17 weirder things that had happened that week.

When they were stocking their store with the 3958203 ghostly dildos and 358290 spirity vibrators Fareeha had painstakingly assembled with her many LGBTQ+ hands, Angela fanned herself.

“It’s too hot in here,” she said.

Fareeha turned up the heat. “Is that better?”

Angela nodded, sweat pouring down her face. “Yes.”

Before Fareeha and Angela knew it, earthly ghosts, too, were exchanging their spirity money for dildo-y goods and services. As predicted, the ghosts soon stopped terrorizing the Earth® because they were too busy fucking each other. Casualties at Riverside National Park were reduced by 6900% that year.

To celebrate, Fareeha gave Angela a gift.

It was an animatronic alien tentacle. “I love it,” said Angela.

“I picked it up before we left space,” Fareeha said. “When you’re experiencing your clinical masturbation, you can use this arm to perform other tasks, so you’ll still have two hands for everything else. I know not all of us can reach Lesbian Level 47 where God gives you two additional hands.”

“You’re so thoughtful, my midcentury modern shag carpet,” Angela sobbed.

Six earth-months after that, Fareeha got down on one knee. Not because she was going to propose—because she had dropped a quarter. However, 2 months after Fareeha dropped the quarter, she asked Angela to marry her. Angela was all “hell yeah, bitch!”

They had a non-platonic wedding and went to That _Bittchin_ ’ Planet for their honeymoon, though they called it a honeybittchin’planet instead of a honeymoon to be more galactically correct.

They fucked, and so did the ghosts—the ones beneath them on earth, and the ones around them in space.

All was bittchin’ well.


End file.
